complicated. I definitely wasn’t into the awkward that might, and probably would, ensue once he and I went our separate ways. And we would, because for me there was no forever or happy-ever-afters. That kind of thing wasn’t in my future.
Except as I walked away, even while making a conscious effort to not look in Chase’s direction . . . I did.
Chapter Nine
I’d survived the canoe trip catastrophe, managed to suffer through the rest of the weekend activities, and made it back home to running water, electricity, and air conditioning—where I was achingly thankful to once again be surrounded by my electronics. My recliner chair was deep and comfy, and I’d settled into it with my laptop, so startled by the spark of inspiration that hit me that I clung to it and wrote through the night.
It was now Monday morning, and the surfaces of my eyes were gritty, like sandpaper. I rubbed them with fingertips numb from exhaustion. The sun poured through the window blinds and my head throbbed. There was no way I’d make it in to work until I got at least four hours of sleep.
I was ready for bed now; my body was as numb as my brain was fuzzy.
The phone rang. Even though it was only a few steps away, it was too far. I sat in my chair, staring at the light blinking blue on the console with each ring. The phone clicked over to voicemail and my mother’s voice came on: I don’t know where you are, but I’ve been calling you for days.
That was it. She hung up.
Despite being bone tired, my lips curled into a weak smile.
She had only called me once, yesterday. The first time in three weeks. The for days was an exaggeration, as was typical of my mother. I was pretty sure it was a Filipino thing. At least, it was true of my mother and her sister. The two of them thrived on dramatics. I may have inherited a bit of it, myself.
The pads of my feet thumped against the wood floor as I slugged across the room. I’d always been a heavy walker. My mother used to tell me I sounded like an elephant moving through the house—graceful wasn’t one of my attributes. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I plucked the phone out of its cradle.
I dialed her number and she picked up on the second ring. She’d probably been sitting there beside her phone, tapping her acrylic fingernails while she waited impatiently for me to call her back. She might’ve been timing me, even. Now that she’d finally gotten a smartphone she was all about apps.
She sighed into the phone. “Roxanna Leigh, why don’t you answer your phone when I call? Are you ignoring me?”
Her thick Filipino accent made her irritation even more pronounced.
“Maybe you should call me more often.”
“I’m your mother,” she said, incredulous. “You should call me to make sure I’m not dead.”
“I was camping. It was horrible. I was busy trying to survive the mosquito bites.”
“ Eh, why would you go camping?”
“Gen and Lexie kidnapped me.” Smiling, I shifted the phone to my other ear—my arms were too tired to hold the phone up. “And, you’re not dead, so that’s good. What’s up?”
She huffed. “It’s your aunt. She’s driving me crazy.”
I glanced at the clock. It was only seven a.m. in San Diego. “She’s driving you crazy this early in the day? What are you two fighting about now?”
They were always bickering about something. My mother was the more responsible of the two, which didn’t say much for my aunt.
“That Coach purse you bought me for Mother’s Day? You know the one? With the buckles?”
I remembered it well. Not only had she sent me pictures of the purse for two months in advance of Mother’s Day, but every time I spoke with her on the phone she mentioned how she hadn’t had a new purse in months, maybe even a year. Another exaggeration—she bought purses like I bought shoes.
“Yes, I remember.”
“She bought one in the same color.”
“You’re sisters. It’s cute to match.” I grinned and
Except as I walked away, even while making a conscious effort to not look in Chase’s direction . . . I did.
Chapter Nine
I’d survived the canoe trip catastrophe, managed to suffer through the rest of the weekend activities, and made it back home to running water, electricity, and air conditioning—where I was achingly thankful to once again be surrounded by my electronics. My recliner chair was deep and comfy, and I’d settled into it with my laptop, so startled by the spark of inspiration that hit me that I clung to it and wrote through the night.
It was now Monday morning, and the surfaces of my eyes were gritty, like sandpaper. I rubbed them with fingertips numb from exhaustion. The sun poured through the window blinds and my head throbbed. There was no way I’d make it in to work until I got at least four hours of sleep.
I was ready for bed now; my body was as numb as my brain was fuzzy.
The phone rang. Even though it was only a few steps away, it was too far. I sat in my chair, staring at the light blinking blue on the console with each ring. The phone clicked over to voicemail and my mother’s voice came on: I don’t know where you are, but I’ve been calling you for days.
That was it. She hung up.
Despite being bone tired, my lips curled into a weak smile.
She had only called me once, yesterday. The first time in three weeks. The for days was an exaggeration, as was typical of my mother. I was pretty sure it was a Filipino thing. At least, it was true of my mother and her sister. The two of them thrived on dramatics. I may have inherited a bit of it, myself.
The pads of my feet thumped against the wood floor as I slugged across the room. I’d always been a heavy walker. My mother used to tell me I sounded like an elephant moving through the house—graceful wasn’t one of my attributes. Pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose, I plucked the phone out of its cradle.
I dialed her number and she picked up on the second ring. She’d probably been sitting there beside her phone, tapping her acrylic fingernails while she waited impatiently for me to call her back. She might’ve been timing me, even. Now that she’d finally gotten a smartphone she was all about apps.
She sighed into the phone. “Roxanna Leigh, why don’t you answer your phone when I call? Are you ignoring me?”
Her thick Filipino accent made her irritation even more pronounced.
“Maybe you should call me more often.”
“I’m your mother,” she said, incredulous. “You should call me to make sure I’m not dead.”
“I was camping. It was horrible. I was busy trying to survive the mosquito bites.”
“ Eh, why would you go camping?”
“Gen and Lexie kidnapped me.” Smiling, I shifted the phone to my other ear—my arms were too tired to hold the phone up. “And, you’re not dead, so that’s good. What’s up?”
She huffed. “It’s your aunt. She’s driving me crazy.”
I glanced at the clock. It was only seven a.m. in San Diego. “She’s driving you crazy this early in the day? What are you two fighting about now?”
They were always bickering about something. My mother was the more responsible of the two, which didn’t say much for my aunt.
“That Coach purse you bought me for Mother’s Day? You know the one? With the buckles?”
I remembered it well. Not only had she sent me pictures of the purse for two months in advance of Mother’s Day, but every time I spoke with her on the phone she mentioned how she hadn’t had a new purse in months, maybe even a year. Another exaggeration—she bought purses like I bought shoes.
“Yes, I remember.”
“She bought one in the same color.”
“You’re sisters. It’s cute to match.” I grinned and
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